


Take Me to Paradise

by GemNika



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gallows Humor, Genderplay, Kissing in a Grave, Love Confessions, M/M, Roleplay, Romance, Rough Sex, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 02:23:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemNika/pseuds/GemNika
Summary: He watched from afar, wholly unaware that the object of his desire watched just as closely. Will Grell be able to take the initiative, or has his seductive silver tongue finally met its match in the quirky Undertaker?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittlePrincessNana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePrincessNana/gifts).



 

The first time Grell saw him, it had been a normal day. A boring one, even. The Undertaker, while a little on the peculiar side, was nothing truly out of the norm for the red-haired Reaper. Back when Lady Red had been alive, when they'd been Jack the Ripper, things were simple.

And then that idiotic cult with their silly Doomsday books had to come about. Even though he'd seen the Undertaker several times by then, had even buried the man in a barrel of salt just for  _both_  of them to get a few laughs at the demon butler and his charge's expense, that day in the Library had changed things.

He'd drawn back Undertaker's long, sweeping bangs and gazed into gleaming eyes so similar to his own. The same glimmering chartreuse belonging to every Reaper. Those high cheekbones, the bedroom gaze. Even the scar reaching across his cheek and throat. It sent his head spinning just thinking about the beauty lying beneath the tousled locks and shambling robes Undertaker wore.

And since then, nothing had been the same for Grell Sutcliff. He couldn't meander the streets of London without thinking he'd heard the cackling from that grey-haired man. Every soul he rended with the pathetic little shears from his demotion, Grell thought about just who would be tending to the body afterwards.

For the first time in centuries, he didn't want to flirt with everyone he came across. Oh, he still did it and enjoyed the reactions he received - most especially from that wretched demon, Sebastian - but there wasn't nearly as much fire churning in his belly from putting on a show now.

Not when the man who he truly wanted to see him, just didn't.

It wasn't as though Grell made his presence all that well-known around Undertaker though. In fact, he turned into a bit of a shy princess, truth be told.

No, instead of being ready to take the man he wanted, Grell clammed up. Crimson rushed to his cheeks and the breath that he really didn't need in his lungs in the first place, stalled. It was even worse, he discovered, when the soft thunk of a shovel meeting cold dirt met his ears. That sound shouldn't have given him any reason to react, but it did. Every time he heard it, Grell knew that  _he_  was there. In the graveyard. Burying the ones whose coffins he'd prepared, whose bodies he'd tended to after their death.

His "guests," Grell had heard him muttering one day over the soft pitch of dirt and pebbles sliding from his trusty shovel to litter the ground.

How the redhead wished he could hold even the smallest bit of Undertaker's attention as his guests did. But he knew, without having to be told, that his usual seductive techniques wouldn't work on a man like that. Which left Grell utterly clueless how he could make the grey-haired man see him as something more than the boisterous, outlandish Reaper that everyone knew him to be.

An eerie whistle brushed along the wind, up toward where Grell sat perched on a rooftop, overlooking the sleepy, drab city coated in rolling fog.

He so hated the weather in England for this very reason. There was never enough color. No matter how the Records of souls played out, showing human lives in a nostalgic sheen that brightened their dreary days, he knew the truth about this world.

It was boring. Almost colorless. And it was why he loved painting the streets with red.

If anything, that was his one way to connect with the ex-reaper. Grell's victims were nearly always sent to Undertaker, and that meant the man had to at least think about him a little bit. Sometimes he wondered if Undertaker really knew who Jack the Ripper was - that it wasn't just Lady Red, but himself as well.

The whistling grew louder and Grell's attention skidded downward to the little grey headstones jutting from the frozen earth. The chill in the air that had been nagging at the back of his mind was swept away on a breeze when he found a figure shuffling between stones toward an open grave. He was immensely thankful for his glasses ridding him of the nearsightedness that afflicted all Reapers when he caught sight of the swaying grey hair and easily recognizable black hat.

The long grey scarf draped over one shoulder and across his midnight robes.

And when he turned and lowered the shovel that Grell hadn't noticed before, Undertaker gave a great stretch, sending his arms soaring above his head and his back arching so far that he was sure the man's spine would snap.

"So flexible," Grell whispered to himself. "A beautiful canvas, draped in shadows. You do need more color, dearest Undertaker."

It was obvious the object of his desire hadn't seen him, hadn't noticed his presence there. Watching him hunch over the grave to look down at the plain wooden casket left Grell enthralled, speechless when he lifted the shovel and began to fill the grave. His movements were slow, methodical, practiced and steady in a rhythm that only one such as himself could have perfected.

"How I would love to see you wield a scythe," Grell breathed. "Those muscles. I know they're there, hiding away."

Of course, he'd seen Undertaker reaping souls only once, but the memory was clouded with his own joy at receiving his modified scythe back from Will.

Just the thought of seeing a legendary Reaper in action had Grell fighting to suppress an aroused whimper. And he nearly succeeded.

Luckily, Undertaker continued whistling to himself, none the wiser that Grell was finding himself in a bit of an uncomfortable situation with his arousal growing steadily and straining against his trousers.

" _London Bridge is falling down…"_

The gentle lilting of his voice drifted skyward, right toward Grell who leaned back against a chimney. It wasn't in tune, and he was surprised by the odd lyrics that soon started to replace the originals, but Grell didn't care about that.

" _Six feet deep and three feet wide…"_

What he cared about the most was seeing yet another new side to Undertaker. Hearing the odd warbling of his voice that most would attribute to insanity. It was perfect. A trembling prologue, seemingly unsure and yet still so confident in its unique timbre as it prepared to reveal the main act.

Before he knew what was happening, Grell's hand slipped down his waistcoat to palm the bulge in his trousers. The soft shuffle of his red jacket slipping further down his arms went unnoticed.

He remained there throughout the Undertaker's burial. Just a little teasing couldn't hurt, he was sure.

Just watching. Just a little time to himself, keeping his whimpers muted behind tightly clamped lips that bled when he bit into them with his pointed teeth. A little pain was worth it when he pictured Undertaker being the one to make it happen.

" _All the plots lie side by side…"_

"Oh, take me," Grell rasped under his breath. His hand slid with more purpose, sending him into a breathless stupor. "You beautiful creature… O-Oh…"

" _My fair lady…"_

* * *

It had become something of a game for Undertaker to tease the redheaded Reaper with his presence. He'd seen the way Grell looked at him, those short stolen glances when they happened to be in the same place and unable to stop themselves from interacting.

It wasn't often that it happened, simply because it seemed the man who swore to everyone around him that he was, in fact, a lady, was just as adamant about not interfering in Sebastian and Ciel's affairs when he could help it. That did not, however, mean that Undertaker didn't see him.

He always saw Grell.

It was difficult  _not_  to with that bright crimson hair and gleaming, deliciously sharp teeth. He was the single bright spot in a world that had grown tiresome and dull for the ex-Reaper. Of course, Undertaker found great joy in his work, in tending to the dead, but his even greater interest laid in the victims of Grell.

The man was an artist. It had been too long since Undertaker had seen someone with such dedication to spilling the rubies of the soul across pale flesh and unforgiving stone. Those prostitutes from when Grell had been one half of Jack the Ripper had given him such immense pleasure to tend. Cleaning up the bodies for burial was difficult after Grell had touched them, but they were beautifully decorated.

If questions wouldn't arise, Undertaker knew he would simply leave them just as they came to him. With blooming flowers of blood across their chests and throats. With those nearly nonexistent singes where their Records had been viewed proudly on display for all to see.

But he couldn't do that. No, the best he could manage was trying to complement the deceased with makeup once they'd been cleaned off. And all the while, he couldn't help but think of Grell. The makeup he wore, the extensions to his lashes and the soft petals that were his lips. It was with the younger Reaper in mind that Undertaker went about his work that day.

A young man, portly in his life based on the fullness to his cheeks and beneath his jaw. And yet, the rest of him was thinner than it should have been. That was what happened when someone was exsanguinated so thoroughly. The leeches that few doctors used in those days could take a few lessons from Grell, that was for sure.

He leaned in close, cursing the poor vision his previous occupation had doomed him to retain, and noted the sweeping pattern of small blades that had slashed through the young man's chest. He would need to stitch this up, of course, but that didn't stop Undertaker from pushing his overly long sleeves back from his hands to run his pale fingers over the swollen, bruised flesh.

"You are quite the lucky guest," he chuckled to the body. "Only the lucky ones get this sor' of treatment."

His laughter was soft, lilting in the otherwise silent room, but he couldn't help it. He could nearly feel Grell's lust for more blood to be spilt all across England in just this one man's corpse.

" _Oh, Bassy! Don't you know, it's rude to ignore a lady!"_

Undertaker fought to keep his spine from going rigid at the sudden croon just outside of his shop. He'd know  _that_  voice anywhere. Even though Grell never spoke like that around  _him_ , Undertaker still knew it. He heard it echoing down alleys and across the slumbering city. It crawled between his ears while he slept.

And sadly, he knew that as soon as the younger Reaper realized just where Sebastian and Ciel were going, that the two were coming to the man who handled almost every dead body in the city, Grell would clam up. That brilliant flame that was his personality, the single spark of light in Undertaker's carcass-filled world, would dim.

That had been the first clue for him that something had changed in Grell's eyes. Still, he couldn't dwell on it, because in the next moment the door of his shop opened to reveal Ciel and his demonic butler, Sebastian. And latched onto the elder of the two, was Grell. Just curled around that slim morsel of masculinity with breathtaking ruby eyes, legs wound about his arm and that sculpted, delicate chin resting on Sebastian's shoulder.

Undertaker chuckled and tilted his head, gazing past his bangs to find Grell's eyes widening in shock as he slithered to the ground.

"Undertaker," Ciel said, pausing several steps away. The boy was always so… dreary. And that was a bit of an understatement. "We have come seeking information."

"Don't you always," he chuckled. "You know my fee. I want none of tha' Queen's money, just a good laugh."

"Must this happen  _every_  time we arrive?" Ciel groaned.

"I believe Grell-" Sebastian started.

"Oh, no," Grell said, regaining his composure and keeping his gaze on the wall above Undertaker's head. On the jars full of odds and ends that he'd collected over the years, and a few of his own little projects. "I-I should, um… Get going. Those souls won't just reap themselves, and… And…"

Undertaker's smile widened only slightly when the redhead shuffled back toward the door. "I'm sure that Will is a little tight on the leash."

"Oh, I would never let  _him_ put a leash on me," Grell smirked. His cheeks flamed a beautiful pink beneath his elongated lashes when he realized just what he'd said.

"Well, get on with it then," Ciel huffed. "We don't have all day, Grell."

"R-Right!" Grell let out a timid giggle, batting his lashes at Sebastian - though Undertaker could tell it didn't hold nearly as much flirtatious charm as normal. "I guess our private chat will have to wait until-"

"Oh, just leave already!" Ciel snapped.

Undertaker pulled a bone cookie out of his pocket and started nibbling on it, letting his sleeves fall to his elbows and marvelling at how quickly Grell's attention was drawn to the simple action. And within moments, the Reaper was gone. Not a single word, no sound aside from his heeled boots scurrying away from the shop.

Still, Undertaker decided to be nice so he could get the young Earl of Phantomhive out of his business. "Tell you what, young master," he grinned. "Today's free of charge. Ask your questions, and I'll answer. But you owe me two next time."

"Yes, of course," Ciel nodded. "We are looking for information on-"

Undertaker hardly heard the boy's words, but he still answered to the best of his ability. And all the while, his mind was filled with the image of silken ruby locks disappearing between the door and jamb. With bright emerald eyes behind those thin-framed glasses, the clinking skull-shaped beaded adornment that kept them from falling off.

Most of all, though, Undertaker thought of his smile and the bright pointed teeth that he longed to have scoring his pale flesh. Maybe giving him a couple new scars in the process.

' _Wha' a beautiful creature, that Grell…'_

* * *

Grell took careful steps across the rooftops, not wanting to slip in the rain that poured down across his once-perfect hair, plastering it to his shoulders and back. It was nearly torrential, and he was, of course, rather put off by the fact that his makeup had most definitely smudged and he looked like a drowned rat. It really wouldn't do for anyone to see him in such a state, so Grell was adamant about keeping far from sight.

No matter how great of an actress he was, nothing could downplay just how atrocious his appearance was right then.

Still, even through the sheets of rain, with each slow step he took toward his final victim for the night, Grell was able to hear the sounds of the slumbering city. Dawn was still hours away. Receiving his personally modified scythe back from Will had made it so his work went so much faster than with those pathetic little shears.

He rounded a corner and let out a heavy sigh while swiping hair from his face. "Oh this is just ridiculous," he groused, sending a glare toward the sky. With his next step, he heard that familiar, off-key humming that had become so soothing to his ears in the past few months. Every time Grell happened upon it, he was instantly taken back to the day he'd watched Undertaker filling a grave. And, of course, he remembered all too well what he'd done out in the open while watching him. How it had taken two full days for his lips to heal from where he'd bitten them.

He still had the pair of undergarments he'd sullied that day. They were tucked away in his room, only pulled out for him to look at when he was feeling especially… excited.

He peered over the edge of the building and found himself directly above where Undertaker stood, hunched over a plot and pushing his shovel into the mud to make a new grave. Why the man was out at this hour, digging graves, was beyond him though.

Still, hearing that voice… It sent his stomach into flips, and the breathy sigh that slipped past his lips seemed to send him off kilter. Or maybe he'd really just swooned entirely when he saw Undertaker stand and tip his head back, open his mouth, and drink the raindrops falling down on the both of them.

That wide smile was the nail in Grell's coffin though. And, for the briefest of moments, he wondered whether Undertaker had known he was really there.

Of course, there was no dwelling on that as he tried to pull further from the edge, to hide from the man's questionable sight - no one really knew if he could see without the glasses all Reapers wore for their nearsightedness - and his foot skidded across slick shingles.

An unholy screech rocketed from deep within the redhead while he toppled over the edge of the building. There was no trying to get his bearings as his forehead cracked against the roof and he tumbled downward.

Undertaker paused and opened his eyes, looking around for the source of the odd, muddy splashing thud he'd heard, and found nothing out of the ordinary. It was entirely possible that his shovel had simply slipped, but when he looked at his hand, it was still there in his grasp.

A quiet, discomfited groan drew his attention to the mud at his feet. Specifically, to the blurry lump that was lying in the six-foot-deep hole he'd just finished digging. He really did hate that he couldn't see all that well, and his clumped hair being in front of his eyes wasn't doing much to help matters in the rain. So, Undertaker simply dropped his shovel and knelt on the ground, smile widening as he drew closer and the one in the grave rolled onto their back.

"Well, wha' have we here?" Undertaker chuckled. "Someone's a bit early..."

Grell pressed his mud-covered gloved hand to his forehead, wincing at the sudden throb behind his eyes. It took several slow breaths before he was ready to look around, but when he did, it was all stars and vague dark spots. And some blob shrouded in blackness, hovering over him.

His hand slid lower to find that his glasses had been knocked loose, and only the little skull beads that had been attached to them were still on his person.

Undertaker looked closer, disappearing beneath the earth just past his shoulders when he caught sight of what he thought was red hair draped across a red jacket. There was only one person he knew who would have something like that on, after all. "Ah, it's our neighborhood Reaper. What-"

His eyes widened when the softened earth gave way and his nails dug into the soil before finally losing purchase, sending him sliding down into the grave.

Grell blinked repeatedly to clear his vision, then grunted when something heavy landed on top of him. By the time his vision had cleared enough for him to see, the weight was still on him. And instead of seeing stars, the air seemed to sparkle just behind the man whose face was mere centimeters from his own.

Undertaker was drenched, he could tell, especially when the redhead found that the bangs usually covering his eyes were pushed to the side, letting him see the mesmerizing green orbs. The full extent of the scar across Undertaker's cheek. The fine slope of his nose and how his wide lips lifted his cheeks just enough to narrow his eyes.

Breathlessness that had nothing to do with the weight atop him took root in Grell's lungs. His mouth opened and closed and a strangled whimper sounded in his throat when Undertaker shifted only slightly, letting him feel the heavy robes draped over the both of them, and the other man's legs between his.

"As I was sayin'," Undertaker chuckled as though nothing had happened, "Wha' are you doin' skulking 'round in a grave?"

"A… g-grave?" Grell whispered. He could smell cookies on Undertaker's breath, most likely those macabre little bone-shaped ones he sometimes caught the man eating at the most inappropriate (according to humans) of times.

"'S'where we are."

"I-I was on a roof…" Did he really sound as breathless as he felt? There was honestly no telling based on how Undertaker chuckled again. The man was always laughing in some way, over something he found funny.

"How, exactly, did you manage to fall, then? Isn't it part of your job to be good at things like that?" The sudden deeper flush to Grell's cheeks had excitement bubbling in Undertaker's belly. Even covered in mud with the makeup he wore destroyed and smudged, the gentle touch of pink across his cheeks was nearly too much to handle.

Grell looked to the side, astutely ignoring the eyes boring into him. "I slipped," he muttered. "And  _you're_ one to talk…"

"Me?"

"Some legendary Reaper you are," Grell whispered, nearly pouting. "You slipped too."

"Are you sure I wasn't coming to check up on ya?"

Grell fought the sudden gasp as gentle fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead. He could already imagine having Undertaker's overly long nails scraping his scalp as they laid spent in a tangle of limbs. How it would feel with them tickling his sides as the man he ached for caressed his writhing, sweaty body.

"Looks like you got a little cut."

"... Wh-What?" His eyes crossed in an attempt to look up at the slight stinging in his head when Undertaker touched him again, then followed his hand as it lowered to reveal the thin streak of crimson on his fingertip. "... Oh."

"But you're right. I did slip. Mud will do tha', you see." Undertaker still didn't try to move away from Grell, instead secretly enjoying just what his close proximity had reduced the Reaper beneath him to. Instead of being loud, he was soft-spoken. Instead of theatrics and outlandish declarations, Grell was very nearly petulant.

"Are you planning on getting off at some point?" Grell frowned. "It's highly improper to-"

"Maybe," Undertaker grinned. It only grew when Grell tried to push him away, and he barely shifted under the weakened attempt. They both knew Grell could have moved him, if he really wanted to. It wasn't as though Undertaker was resisting  _being_  moved, after all.

"Oh, really," Grell huffed. "If you would  _please_  move, some of us have work to do tonight."

"As do I," Undertaker chuckled. He shifted slightly to prop himself up on one elbow, watching as rain pattered down into the mud and across Grell's blushing face. "But you seem to be without cover."

"Unless we count  _you_ ," Grell countered. He cringed at the feeling of mud seeping beneath his once-white shirt. "But you're not much of an umbrella. And… I-I need to get out of the dirt, so…"

Undertaker laughed a little more forcefully, brushing his bloody finger across Grell's lower lip and silencing him in an instant. "Red really does suit you," he whispered. Just seeing that little swipe of ruby blood on his lip made him want to close the distance between them. So badly.

Grell's eyes widened, his tongue flicking out across his lip on instinct and catching the tip of Undertaker's nail.

"So much more than brown and black," Undertaker rasped, swiping at a speck of dirt just above his jaw. It smeared, however, as the rain continued to beat down on them. Grell said nothing, his lips lying pliant and so clearly willing, and his half-closed eyes speaking volumes of what he was too ashamed to say. "Tell me… Do I still need to move?"

"You, um…" Grell shivered as Undertaker's hand curved around his cheek. "I-I would say, yes…"

"And yet, I hear tha' almost silent  _but_ …"

He wasn't sure when they'd gotten so close again, but Grell couldn't question it. He refused to. In a matter of moments, his gloves were gone and gliding across the slick expanse of Undertaker's throat, up into his hair to pull him closer. Closer still.

And he came so willingly that Grell truly would have shed tears if it wasn't for the feeling of those perfect lips molding to his. It wasn't frantic or desperate, not like some of the men Grell had seduced in his time. There was a natural ebb and flow as Undertaker's head tilted just enough for their noses to brush with each gentle caress.

It was sheer torture as the grey-haired beauty above him drew back just enough to speak.

"I've heard from a rather reliable source that someone prefers… this."

Grell found himself whimpering as Undertaker's tongue slithered out and tasted the final traces of blood that had been on his lips. "Definite -  _mmm_ …"

His lips parted to allow Undertaker's tongue free reign, to dance and writhe with his as he clutched tightly to soaked black robes and grey locks. He was sure that later on, he would question whether or not this had really happened or if it was all a dream. But his dreams had never been so vivid. So  _visceral_.

In his dreams of the legendary Reaper, Grell had never tasted the other man's blood from the small scratches his sharpened teeth left on his lips and tongue. It wasn't like he made a habit of kissing  _anyone_ while not in a persona he'd carefully crafted, making sure his teeth were more normal, more human.

But Undertaker didn't seem to care all that much about a few scratches. In fact, it was almost as though he encouraged it, if the guttural moan vibrating against Grell's lips or how Undertaker seemed to press ever-closer was any indication.

"I do believe," Undertaker laughed between surprisingly sweet, timid kisses from Grell, "We have work… to do… My lady."

Grell smiled against his lips. "We do. But I'm ahead of schedule."

Undertaker drew back slightly to look into the crystal clear picture beneath him. This close, he could see the fine details he usually missed. The natural length of Grell's lashes, emphasized by faux hairs pasted on his lids. The complementary ruby eye shadow that was barely hanging on through the rain. The smallest dimple on one side, just beneath his lower lip, when he smiled. "Are you, now…"

"Mm-hmm," Grell hummed. His arms wound around Undertaker's shoulders, fingers toying with errant grey strands.

"I do hope you'll make the next one especially gruesome, my lady," Undertaker chuckled. "I do enjoy cleaning up after you."

"Well, it's so seldom I get a request," Grell giggled. "I think I can manage that."

Undertaker wanted more than anything to just invite himself along to watch Grell work, but he had things to attend to before dawn arrived. Still, hearing that soft laugh from the Reaper in his arms was enough to have him collapsing atop Grell once more and bringing their lips together again in the pouring rain.

* * *

It was no secret to those who knew him, that Grell was exceedingly aware of his appearance at all times. And that night was no different. Except this time it was all the more important that he looked his best. It wasn't often that he had a chance to dress up, after all.

Actually, he never really had the chance to dress up. Not like this, and not for the man who really mattered.

He plucked at the crimson fabric while looking at himself in the mirror, nibbling at his lips and shifting again to pull at a few stray hairs that just wouldn't sit right. But the time was drawing nearer, and there was a certain giddiness welling up in him that he just wasn't accustomed to.

Could this really be what all those lovesick girls crooned over? The cause for their tittering and fan-waving at functions?

"It's time," he whispered to himself. "You've done this before, Grell. Just… Take a deep breath and…"

His eyes widened at the gentle whistling from the other side of the door and just down the stairs. Through the floorboards, he could hear his lover shuffling about and closing up shop for the night. Ciel and Sebastian had already been by asking for information while he'd been getting ready. The way the whole building shook with Undertaker's bellowing laughter had only made Grell all the more nervous.

Putting the grey-haired man in a better mood than before had been  _his_  job, but Sebastian just had to make him laugh. It was still something that Grell hadn't been able to accomplish. Not the way that damned demon did. And he knew better than anyone, after having spent the last year with Undertaker, that the man  _loved_  laughter.

His hands fell to the counter, his eyes lowering with regret.

"This was stupid…" Honestly, how was he supposed to compare? The soft chuckles drawing nearer to the room were proof of his failure.

"Where's my pretty princess?"

Grell stayed silent though, already trying to decide what he needed to take off first so he could just leave. It wasn't as though Undertaker would care all that much if he left. It had happened before, a night of theirs being interrupted by one thing or another - whether it was that little Phantomhive boy needing information and thinking that Undertaker was his own employee without a life of his own, or Grell's own responsibilities as a Reaper.

"Does this mean I need to search for'er?" Undertaker laughed. "Oh, I do love a good game of hide an' seek."

Grell knew he did. He'd been able to convince Undertaker to play a game with him two months prior, with the legendary Reaper using the skills he'd honed over his long lifetime to scour the city in the dead of night for his redhead lover. And when Grell had eventually been found, naked and already bound to Undertaker's bed… Well, that had been quite a night for both of them.

He could hear the excitement in his lover's voice at the prospect of a chase, but while that would have normally been cause for quite a bit of excitement for him as well… Grell just couldn't find the will to think about it.

Undertaker's footsteps were soft as he crept around the room, feigning a serious search for the man who he already knew was just behind the door of his small, exceedingly modern bathroom. Most others in London - unless they were of higher class - simply didn't have them. At least, they didn't all have a built-in bath and a toilet like Undertaker did. Then again, he made very good money with his line of work.

But Grell didn't really care about a bath or toilet right then either, just the mirror he was looking into, watching as tears welled on his lashes and threatened to ruin the makeup he'd so painstakingly applied.

"No' in the wardrobe… Or under the covers…" Undertaker's smile widened while his nails scraped across the dark, dented wood of his dresser. "Maybe my princess is hiding in tha' bathroom…"

Grell gripped the counter tighter than before, then forced himself to turn for the door as Undertaker drew nearer. There was only one way out of that bathroom, and it was through the door. Which meant that he needed to face his lover in some way before just leaving. And there was very little that could be done to keep him there at that point.

' _What would he really want with me anyway? Someone like him… Dressing up was a silly idea… He's going to hate this…'_

The door swung inward and Grell held tightly to the wood when he saw that his lover's hat was already off and the sleeves of his robe had been pushed down to his elbows. He knew just what that meant, but he really wasn't in the mood anymore. All Grell wanted right then was to disappear into the sewers and hang himself.

Undertaker's gaze raked over the ruby dress that so perfectly fit Grell's slim body. The same dress he'd worn once before, to help Ciel Phantomhive with a performance of Hamlet. It had made his mouth well and truly water that day they'd been on stage together. And seeing the red-haired Reaper wearing it again, standing in the doorway of his bathroom, meters from his own bed, was enough to have him hardening beneath his clothes.

If it wouldn't be a waste of a perfect dress, he would just rip the thing off of Grell right then. But Undertaker knew he wanted to see the younger Reaper in this again. And again.

From Grell's bare feet, up the length of his legs, pausing at his slender hips that Undertaker hoped to bruise later. Finding his arms barred around his waist and his flowing hair slightly curled. His gaze lowered to the floor and his glasses missing to highlight the attention he'd put into his makeup that night. The gentle brush of color on his lips matching his hair.

Grell was the picture of a modest woman.

"Taker…"

Oh, how he loved when Grell's voice quivered like this. All part of the act, he knew. Undertaker took a step closer, breathing in the fragrant perfume Grell had used. He smelled heavenly, just like blood-red roses blooming in the dark of night. "Ah, so my princess knows my name," he chuckled. "Don't be frightened, pet. I won't hurt ya."

Grell's head lifted slightly, his eyes shifting higher until they were locked on his. Undertaker fought to suppress a shiver of anticipation when he caught sight of the bare shine on his lashes.  _'Tears… Oh, he's committing to the role tonight!'_

His hands lifted to Grell's waist, drawing his lover closer so he could nip at the younger Reaper's ear. "Don't cry, princess," he chuckled. "All you have to do is be a good girl, and you'll make me  _very_ 'appy."

There it was, the one thing that Grell knew he could really never do for him. All the time they'd spent together over the last year, those late nights in each other's arms, meant nothing now. Grell sniffled and swiped at his cheeks while carefully sidestepping his advancing lover. "I-I can't…"

"Wha' in the world…"

Undertaker whirled in place while Grell rushed across the room to grab his belongings that had been placed in the far corner. His shoes and scythe and normal clothes. Even his signature red jacket.

He just couldn't understand where this was coming from, because he knew that the younger Reaper had been more than happy to dress up like this. He'd been nearly preening earlier that night when they'd had dinner over a closed casket. It had been only two hours since then. Unless this was part of the game…

He was curious though, so Undertaker made his way toward Grell and pulled his lightly curled hair over one shoulder and let his lips brush across the back of his neck. Grell flinched. Soft sniffles grew into muted whimpers as he tried to gather his things and rush out of the room. But Undertaker was definitely having none of that.

Not when he knew for a fact that this was no act. And if it wasn't part of Grell's  _princess_  persona, then he'd made a mistake. There was no game right then, regardless of how Grell was dressed or what they'd been planning earlier. The only thing that mattered to him was finding out just what had happened.

"Grell, wait."

He shook his head and scrambled across the bed toward the door, holding tightly to his belongings and fighting against the bone-shaking sobs that welled up within him.  _'And I thought I could make him happy… I'm such an idiot!'_

He cried out as long black sleeves slapped against the frame and a familiar body pinned him to the door. "T-Taker, stop!"

"Talk to me," Undertaker whispered. His smile was gone, and in its place a concerned frown pulled down his lips. He'd never seen Grell like this before, had never held the man while his shoulders shook and his hands trembled so badly he dropped everything he'd been carrying.

Still, he pressed himself closer, caging his lover in and holding him tenderly.

"Tell me wha's happened," he said. "Wha' made you cry?"

"... Y-You…"

"What-"

"I-I can't make you h-happy!" Grell cried. His head thudded against the door while he tried to put some distance between them. "Not like…  _him_."

"Who?"

"S-S… S-Seb-"

Undertaker's frown deepened, and he carefully pushed against Grell's shoulders until the Reaper was facing him. He wouldn't look into his eyes, but that was alright. Most likely, he was too ashamed to let Undertaker see his makeup in such a state. "Love, I want you to listen to me."

Grell nodded quickly and finally met Undertaker's gaze when he tried to swipe at the moisture on his cheeks, and both of his hands were captured with such gentleness, with so much tenderness, that he was left without a comment sitting on his tongue.

"Nothing that demon can do will  _ever_  hold a candle to you," Undertaker said, lifting his lover's knuckles to his lips.

"B-But he… I can't do what h-he does for you…"

"Wha' might that be?"

Grell pulled one hand from Undertaker's grasp and sniffled while brushing his grey bangs away from his eyes. "He m-makes you laugh," he whimpered. "You laugh so hard when he's here. So much that you cry, a-and sometimes, it's almost as though… with just a joke… he's touched a p-part of you that I n-never will."

Undertaker's smile returned only slightly, but it was gentle and caring in a way that Grell had never seen before to his recollection. There was no teasing glimmer sitting in his green eyes as he reached up and pressed Grell's hand more firmly against his cheek.

"I think you're the one who's touched me," said Undertaker, "In ways no one could ever hope to achieve." He drew Grell's other hand to his chest, pressing it into the warm black robes he wore, just over the steadily beating heart within him.

Grell's tears fell more forcefully as Undertaker shifted so their foreheads were pressed together, the only way to be sure they could see one another with perfect clarity since - as he'd found out in the past year - his lover's vision was worse than his own. That fact that he could still smell embalming fluid clinging to the grey-haired ex-Reaper went completely unnoticed.

"All the laughter in the world could never replace wha' you give me," Undertaker whispered.

"A-And what… what could I possibly give you that no one else could?" Grell breathed.

"Love," Undertaker smiled. "In your every smile, tha's what I see. Each and every breath you take. Every touch as you curl 'round me at the end of the night. And when I see you wake up in the morning, so tired and still smiling, even though your makeup's gone…"

"Taker," Grell sniffled. He fought against the urge to lean up and press their lips together, even when he felt his lover's heart quickening beneath his breast. He'd never been this open before. Things between them were almost strictly physical, but that hadn't stopped Grell from falling head over heels for him. He'd been a goner before they'd ever kissed in that grave.

" _You_  give me that. And I want to give you the same thing, Grell."

"Y-You… But…" His eyes closed as Undertaker pulled back and used the end of his sleeve to brush away his slowing tears. And before he could say a word, familiar arms wound around his waist and pulled him close. So much closer than he'd ever really felt with Undertaker before.

Grell had known for a while that Undertaker had a serious side to him. He'd seen it on occasion. Most often when it was a life or death situation, or when he was being particularly cryptic with Ciel. Sometimes early in the morning, the few times Grell had been the first to wake and had simply laid in bed and watched his lover's slow, steady breaths, he found Undertaker so relaxed it was breathtaking.

But in all their late nights together, in every stolen moment they'd taken in the past year, nothing had been quite like this.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Undertaker took a deep breath filled with perfume and the underlying scent that was so uniquely Grell, then looked into his puffy eyes. His thumb swiped at the smeared mascara just beneath Grell's lashes. "Still so beau'iful."

"Hardly," Grell muttered, lowering his gaze once again. "I'm sure I look dreadful." Still, he allowed Undertaker to grasp his hands and lead him toward the bed, to turn him and gently push him down to sit. He was silent as Undertaker stood back and carefully untied the grey scarf around his shoulder, then moved through the buttons of his robes at an unhurried pace.

"I'm surrounded by corpses on a daily basis," Undertaker chuckled. "A good number of whom have met their end at  _your_  lovely hands. You could wear a burlap sack and be covered from head to toe in pig's blood, and you would  _still_  be the most beautiful lady I've ever seen."

Grell's cheeks flushed and a small, bashful smile curled his lips as he gazed at the simple black pants and grey buttoned shirt Undertaker wore beneath his robes. That was one thing he always loved about spending time with this man. He never forgot that Grell was, in his heart, a lady.

The soft scrape of a long, black nail across the shell of his ear as his hair was pushed behind it, drew his attention to the side. He'd expected the kiss he received, just not the lack of carnal desire behind those familiar lips as they touched the corner of his mouth.

At least, it seemed that way until his lover looked into his eyes for several breathless moments.

"Do you have any idea what this dress is doing to me?" Undertaker rasped. "Grell…"

And suddenly, the fire burned anew between them, just like it always did when they were together. Somehow it felt deeper, as though it had reached down to find the tattered remnants of Grell's soul and stitched them together with brilliant cherry embers of desire.

"But maybe we shouldn't," Undertaker sighed. "You -  _mmph!_ " His hands grasped at Grell's where they sat clasped over his lap as his lover's mewling, biting kisses silenced him in an instant.

"I want my prince," Grell whispered. "Fast or slow. It doesn't matter to me, just… Taker, please." He couldn't explain just what had happened, but he needed to feel closer to this man who had so bewitched him.

"Then," Undertaker smiled against those pouty lips, "Let me get prepared for you, love. And you situate yourself on the bed."

They shared another lingering kiss before Undertaker stood and made his way toward the bathroom, giving Grell the time he needed to move higher on the bed, resting his head on the pillow they shared and adjusting his dress so it laid just right. But he knew just what his lover was doing as the sound of water sloshing over itself drifted from the partially closed door. He needed to get the chemicals off of his body, clean under those beautifully black nails. Maybe he would come out without a stitch of clothing on, just to see the prominent erection twitch to life beneath Grell's dress.

Time dragged while he waited, and his head turned only slightly at the sound of Undertaker leaving the bathroom. Even with how far away he was, Grell's breath still caught when he realized that his lover wasn't naked, but shirtless. His pants were hanging lower than normal, his hair slicked back and away from his eyes - just the way Grell liked.

"A very beau'iful princess," Undertaker grinned. He stopped at the foot of the bed and let his nails drag teasingly along Grell's ankles. A soft whimper drifted through the air as he climbed onto the bed, reaching down to bring one slender, pale foot to his lips. "Tell me, love…"

"I'll tell you anything you want to know." Grell gasped while Undertaker's blunt teeth nipped at his calf.

Oh, how he loved that the younger Reaper had so willingly fallen back into his persona, their little game of captive princess and the captor prince. And his commitment to his role, that his legs were so smooth, hairless, just like the women of higher court, only made Undertaker want him all the more.

He should have expected to find feminine drawers as the dress inched upward. They were nearly petticoats with the amount of frilled lace around Grell's knees and covering his thighs.

Grell shivered as long black nails drifted higher, tickling the sensitive spot behind his knees, then on the insides of his thighs, and Undertaker pressed tender kisses up the length of his bodice. He gave extra attention at the top, where the crimson fabric met his pale, quivering chest. Soft brushes of his lips and tongue teased the base of Grell's throat until Undertaker finally latched on and sucked.

"O-Oh, Taker…"

Undertaker laced their fingers together and pressed against Grell with a soft moan, letting the thin fabric between them brush across his chest. "Not Taker," he chuckled. "Tonight I'm your prince."

He gazed down at his lover, watching the gentle flush rising on his cheeks, how his lips curled to reveal those pointed teeth he loved so much.

"Do be gentle with me tonight, my prince." The barest touch of Undertaker's lips on his was his only response. But it was enough to feel the depth of emotion welling in the grey-haired man atop him. Grell caressed his lover's bare back, mapping out the fine muscles always hidden from view.

"Gentle, she says," Undertaker smirked. "And wha' if I'm not gentle?" He saw it in an instant, though, the crack appearing in Grell's persona for the night. He wasn't fully in character, but still mostly himself, and in that moment Undertaker knew that taking his lover's request was what he needed. There was a time for them to be rough, for Grell to make him bleed and for Undertaker's nails to score his lover's flesh. But this wasn't that time. He didn't  _need_  to bruise Grell and hear his cries of ecstasy mixed with pained wails to enjoy himself.

"W-Well…" Grell let out a slow breath when Undertaker's arms wound around him, their bodies pressing together completely, the soft skin of his scarred cheek burrowing into his shoulder.

"Love," Undertaker whispered. "Wha'ever you want tonight, it's yours." He smiled and lightly squeezed Grell. "Cuddling is just as good as anything else."

"Oh no," Grell giggled. "I want my prince to have me."

"Just… gently?"

"Savor me. Like those cookies you always eat."

"I think I can manage that," Undertaker said. "But where should I start?" Grell's response was nothing more than a breathy sigh while Undertaker's lips caressed his pale, slender throat and slid upward to the corner of his mouth. "These pretty lips of yours?"

Grell smiled, baring his pointed teeth, when Undertaker's tongue brushed across the ruby stain on his lips.

"Maybe remove your dress first?" Undertaker rasped. His breaths were shallow while his lips ghosted down the length of Grell's bodice, pausing here and there to nip at the fabric where he knew his lover was sensitive. He paused at Grell's thin hips and lifted his head, following the same path his mouth had taken with his hands, gently massaging everywhere he touched. He loved that Grell's body was so lithe, so beautifully masculine with his lean muscle. Feminine personas and identities aside, Grell's body was just what Undertaker desired.

That wasn't to say he didn't love his quirks. He did. Undertaker had fallen under Grell's spell from the sound of his voice, the lilt of his words as he screeched and called out with that breathtaking sing-song tone. Even in the throes of passion, Grell sounded like a woman. Higher in pitch, gentle in volume until he let loose. Grell was everything a woman could only hope to be, in Undertaker's eyes.

He lifted Grell's hands and brought them together, then leaned forward and gently kissed each pad of his fingertips, up his hands and wrists and arms. He pushed the sleeves of the dress up to Grell's elbows, then lightly suckled the tender skin of his pale wrist.

Grell whimpered and bit at his lips, making Undertaker chuckle quietly. Oh, he knew every spot on his lover that made him quiver. The wrists and behind his knees, especially.

"We'll need to ge' this dress off of my pretty princess," Undertaker rasped. "I'd hate to ruin this."

"But won't my prince be gentle?" Grell asked, nibbling his lip with unease.

"Of course," he chuckled. Undertaker shifted once more so his lips hovered over Grell's. "But I'm sure if I check…" Their gazes stayed locked when his hand slipped beneath Grell's dress and pushed past the feminine undergarments around his thighs. His long fingers wrapped around Grell's cock, already hard and so ready for attention. "Much longer like this and  _you'll_  be the one ruining this dress, my lady."

Grell's legs spread open and his head tipped back into the pillow while Undertaker slowly stroked him. Tingling fire rippled across his skin at the simple touch. "Oh, Taker…"

"Ah-ah. Your  _prince_." He stroked with more purpose, grinning as Grell's eyelids fluttered closed. "Call me your prince."

"You're m-my… Oh… The dress…" Grell's fingers anchored themselves on Undertaker's bare, scarred shoulders and his back arched to push them closer together. Their bodies were already so close, and yet it wasn't enough. It was always like this though. No matter how often he'd insisted they go slowly, only a few simple, teasing touches from those dextrous coroner fingers had him ready to be taken. So ready for everything his lover could give. "The dress will…"

Grell cried out when Undertaker's hand left his aching arousal and pulled out from beneath the crimson fabric. He thought that was all, that he would pull back and get the dress off so they could enjoy each other's bodies until the night's end.

Except Grell quickly realized that he'd been mistaken.

Undertaker had that smile again. The conniving little twist to his lips that told Grell all he needed to know. It was no longer playful and teasing like usual. No, his mouth and eyes spoke of something darker, something painfully tantalizing. Those same fingers bunched up the dress around his cock and wrapped around him, stroking again with fabric so soft he wanted to weep. "T-Taker, wait… The dress," he panted.

"Mm, my princess asked for gentle." Undertaker tenderly kissed his parted ruby lips, undeterred when Grell didn't respond. "And this beau'iful dress is so soft. Don't you like how it feels?" His fingers wrapped around the base of Grell's shaft, trapping it in the fabric, and his other hand lifted to draw slow circles over his covered tip.

"Taker!" Grell gasped, his eyes wide and body trembling. "Wh-What is-"

Undertaker's nail dragged along the fabric until a small wet spot dampened it. "There we are. My dirty princess." He loved hearing how Grell gasped when his persona for the night was forcefully altered. Yes, he could be gentle as his lover wanted him to be. That was no problem. But for Undertaker to do it, he had to make sure Grell was in character. There couldn't be anything that could distract him or pull him out of his identity until they were done.

"No, I'm..." Grell swallowed thickly when Undertaker pulled him up to sit, kneeling between his lewdly spread legs. His lips were claimed, that familiar tongue slipping past them with ease and teasing him into a needy stupor. Grell's fingers sifted through Undertaker's hair, gripping tightly at the scalp only to pull him closer. To feel him and breathe him in.

Grell's head tipped back as Undertaker kissed down his throat once more. Deft fingers loosened the ties on his bodice and began slowly peeling it down his shoulders.

He drew back and propped himself on his knees to look down at Grell. Mussed crimson strands and lips a dark cherry from their kisses. Half-lidded green eyes gazing up at him over lightly flushed cheeks, silently begging for more of the sinful pleasure Undertaker would treat him to. His favorite part, however, was seeing Grell's dress pooled around his hips and the sleeves clinging to his hands. How his pale skin nearly glowed while peeking between strands of crimson that bled so perfectly into the bunched fabric.

"No corset?" Undertaker rasped as his nails scraped lightly over Grell's nipples, pulling a quivering moan from the redhead. His fingers feathered over Grell's arousal, nails scratching at the skirt and making his lover's breath catch. "Oh, you  _are_  a dirty princess."

"Only for my dark and deadly prince." Grell moaned when his lips were claimed once more in a kiss that he would have expected to bruise. Except Undertaker was still gentle. Still caring and attentive. There was no hurry for them that night, no need to rush through and join their bodies as quickly as possible.

Grell pulled his hands from the sleeves and finally let himself explore the scarred expanse of Undertaker's bare chest. Tender touches from his lover were returned with equal care. Slim hips, the fine silver hairs that led beneath his trousers, over his stomach. Grell paused to circle his thumbs around Undertaker's nipples, smiling at the low groan of approval that vibrated through his lips.

He loved the times he could touch Undertaker like this. When he could feel the need burning through his lover's body from each soft caress, it made Grell ache to be closer. It drove his own carnal desire higher. Grell whimpered when Undertaker's nails dragged along his undergarments nearly hard enough to shred them. The things those nails had done to him always left him quivering.

Grell's hand drifted lower to finally unbutton Undertaker's trousers, and he gasped when he felt one long nail scraping around the base of his arousal, then down between his spread legs.

"Don't stop, princess," Undertaker said. He drew back to look into Grell's eyes, watching as they they fluttered closed when his nail brushed lightly across the tight ring of muscles he couldn't wait to be buried in. "You're mine now. Won't you give yourself to me?"

"Yes," Grell rasped. His legs spread further, encouraging the tender touches his lover gifted him with. His fingers shook while pushing Undertaker's pants open to reveal his hips and fine silver hairs leading lower. It didn't matter how many times they'd been together in the past year, or how he'd already memorized every plane of his lover's pale flesh. Grell could trace the pattern of Undertaker's scars in the air with his eyes closed, he was so familiar with this perfect body. And still, even this sight laid before him had his cheeks flushing even further.

How lucky he was.

"That was easy," Undertaker chuckled. "Won't you fight me, princess?"

Grell looked up into his lover's shining emerald eyes and saw the silent challenge in them. Was that what he really wanted? What sort of question was that? Of course Undertaker wanted him to fight back. He lived for a thrilling chase. Why would he want a compliant lady when he could force Grell down to the bed and take him as he pleased? Why would Undertaker  _not_  want him to struggle just a little bit?

His persona had slipped, and Grell knew he needed to remedy it. Because regardless of how he wanted to be treated gently that night, they'd agreed that he was still the captive princess.

What sort of captive simply lets their captor do as they pleased without a fight?

Undertaker's eyes flashed with glee when Grell lowered his gaze off to one side. That was more like it. "I do expect an answer from you, love."

"Wh-What will you do to me?" Grell's voice trembled with arousal, but he tried to force his legs closed in an attempt of feigned modesty.

"I could make you scream." Grell gasped as his lover's fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and forced their eyes to meet again. "Would you like to scream for me?"

"N-No," he whimpered. This was good, getting back into his persona was freeing somehow. Because Grell never wanted to shy away from Undertaker's touch. He craved it. At the slightest hint of something more from the silver-haired man, his skin tingled and his heart thudded in his breast. But he knew how much Undertaker enjoyed this. And Grell couldn't honestly say that he didn't enjoy it, because there were times when he ached to have his arms held down and those long nails digging into his flesh.

"Are you sure, pet? You might find tha' you rather enjoy it." Undertaker pulled those thin, quivering hands back to his stomach, pressed them tightly to him, and let out a small groan as he forced them lower. He loved seeing Grell's eyes widen once his hands cupped the straining arousal in his trousers. "I know I definitely will."

A slow grin stretched across his lips when he felt Grell waver. The hold he had on this persona wasn't nearly as strong as others they'd tried, and he wanted to know if this was one they could keep. The idea had been his own, after all, and while Grell was more than willing to put his acting skills to the test on a whim, there were times when they just didn't work out.

Maybe he could help solidify Grell's hold just a little though.

Grell cried out as he was suddenly thrown back onto the bed and Undertaker's fingers wrapped around his chin. "I want you to scream for me, pet," Undertaker snarled. His nails dug into Grell's cheeks nearly hard enough to slice into him. "I won't be gentle with you, unless I get wha' I want."

"S-Stop!" Grell pushed against his chest, gasping as Undertaker's free hand started roughly pulling his dress down past his hips. If he wasn't careful, it would rip. And Grell knew how much he loved this dress. "Taker, be careful!"

"Dirty princess must want it rough, then," he chuckled. Both hands gripped the fabric and pulled it down, and he ignored the sound of ripping stitches that was nearly covered by Grell's sudden cry of surprise. Having it mended wouldn't be difficult. Once Grell was bare aside from his undergarments, they stared at one another for a silent, breathless moment.

A loud slap rang out in the room accompanied by a harsh sting on Undertaker's cheek. "You vile brute!" Grell spat. "You ripped my dress. You said you'd be gentle with me!"

Undertaker chuckled again. His tongue drifted across the small split in his lip while he gazed back at his fiery lover. This was definitely working. This was what he'd wanted when he'd suggested it earlier that night. He wanted Grell to fight back, with both of them knowing that he truly did want this deep down. But Undertaker couldn't take his eyes away from the fury drawn between Grell's thin brows. "Tha' I did," he hissed, looming over the other Reaper. "What will you do about it,  _princess_?"

Grell's lips pursed with anger. He'd been so sure that Undertaker liked this dress enough that he wouldn't want it ruined. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Undertaker pushed his trousers down and sighed once he sprung free from the confines of his clothes. He pushed his hair back and away from his face, smiling all the while. "Nothing more to say?"

"Oh, I have a few choice words for you."

"Do you, princess?" he chuckled. He knew the moment that Grell saw the shift in him. It was something that he carefully kept as nothing more than an undercurrent when interacting with others. A sharpness and weight in his gaze, a cruel turn to his lips.

"T-Taker?" Grell whimpered. He'd never heard that voice so low, so sinister. Sure, Grell had seen him when he was serious, but there was something else lurking in the air around him. Something darker that pressed down around them and stole the breath from his lungs. He trembled, frozen in place, while watching Undertaker kick his trousers off the bed. He couldn't move as Undertaker slowly crawled up his body. "Stop."

"Why should I, princess? You're all mine now." His smile widened when Grell's hands pushed weakly against his chest.

"You're scaring me."

"No need to be frightened. As long as you're a good girl, I think you'll find I can be very accommodating." It was more than exciting to feel Grell fighting to keep his legs closed while his lips skimmed up the length of his throat and over his racing pulse. "Won't you be a good girl for your prince?"

"Y-You're not my prince!" Grell gasped as his legs were finally forced to part and Undertaker's hips settled between them. He turned away from the lips seeking his, and tried to shift from beneath the warm, hard body pushing him down into the mattress. He wasn't sure what had happened, but this wasn't his Undertaker. "Don't touch me!"

Except no matter how he struggled, he couldn't move. It was something he never really considered before, but Undertaker truly was stronger than him. More than capable of keeping him held down and doing whatever he wished with Grell's body. He'd never felt more helpless than in that moment.

"Touch me, princess," Undertaker rasped. Grell still tried to break free of his hold. A low groan bubbled up in his throat when their hips ground together. "I know you want your prince."

"You-" Grell whimpered when he felt the hot length pressing against his own, sliding so shamelessly against him.

"Tell me you want me to be your prince," Undertaker hissed into a flushed ear, gently nipping at the lobe. "Tell me." Grell stayed silent though. One hand slipped down the redhead's body and gently cupped a rounded globe still hidden in his undergarments, forcing his hips to move as well. "Tell me, beau'iful."

"I-I…" He gasped when Undertaker turned his head and that familiar, lithe tongue speared between his lips. The kiss felt the same as every other kiss they'd had. This hadn't changed, but he could still feel something unnerving in the air. Undertaker's hands felt the same while they kneaded his flesh and brought him to the edge of begging for mercy. Could this really have been hiding in his lover all this time?

He was well and truly torn though, because even though this was a new side of Undertaker that he wasn't sure he wanted any part of, Grell was positive that he knew the man he'd fallen for. Could it be that he was simply playing the part as well though? Was that what this was? That Undertaker had wanted to be an evil, terrifying prince who would force his captive to submit to him?

That had to be it! There was just no other explanation.

Undertaker drew back and smirked when he found Grell glancing up at him. So timid and shy. "Won't you kiss your prince?"

"Only if you really are my prince," Grell whispered. "And not some imposter."

And just like that, the game changed once again. Oh, how he loved the way Grell improvised. "Don't you recognize me, love?"

"But my prince isn't nearly as rough as you've been with me." Grell pouted while his fingers sifted through Undertaker's hair and pushed it back from his face once more. "My prince is gentle and kind, and -  _Ooh_ , yes!"

Undertaker hummed while squeezing their cocks together, lightly stroking to keep Grell from rambling. If this was going to continue, he needed to reassure Grell. It wasn't hard to see that he'd actually scared him, and while that might be something they could try another time, it wasn't what he wanted that night. No matter what they may have had in mind earlier, things had changed.

Because Undertaker still wanted the red-haired Reaper to know just how he felt about him.

"I'm your prince, Grell. Now and forever. And I want you."

Finally, Grell smiled while pulling Undertaker into a melting kiss. Maybe he should have been timid, but this princess wasn't going to sit back and wait for whatever his lover would give him any longer. Their plan had changed, and one thing he'd come to realize with Undertaker was that he loved improvisation nearly as much as laughter.

Undertaker broke away from his lips and set burning kisses down his chin and throat, over his heaving chest. Grell's head tipped back into the thin pillow they shared as he gulped down precious air, soaking in the heated breaths puffing across his navel and lower still. He couldn't help the smile that lifted his lips when he felt those long black nails teasing the hem of his undergarments. Before he could utter a single word, those perfect lips surrounded his already aching shaft and slid down so slowly that Grell was ready to scream. Undertaker had always been a tease when it came to this.

Even if he'd wanted to stay quiet, he couldn't. Just as he couldn't keep himself still while being subjected to the most wonderful torture he'd ever known. It really didn't help that Undertaker had a habit of touching everything he could reach while his face was buried in Grell's lap. It was one long sensual massage from his shoulders to his knees, spurring him on to writhe on the sheets, to curl his hips and arch his back while reaching down to force his lover to move faster.

"Take me, prince," Grell moaned. "Just take me!"

He gasped when Undertaker's soft laugh stuttered across his weeping tip. "Are you sure, love? I'll give you more, if you wan'." Still he kissed and licked his way back up to capture Grell's parted lips in a heated caress. When they separated, he could see that single emotion shining in those perfect green eyes, and even though they normally might have shifted to allow Grell to return the favor before going any further, he could see it. Clear as day. Grell wanted to be taken right then.

There was never a point for them to rush, but Undertaker really didn't want to control himself. The sight of Grell's pink, kiss-swollen lips smiling up at him was enough to have him coming undone. The enticing little vixen in his arms always made him so utterly ravenous.

"Take me to hell and back, my sweet Undertaker," Grell rasped. Undertaker groaned when a moistened hand wrapped around his cock and started pumping him slowly, carefully spreading saliva that he couldn't remember seeing the younger Reaper spit out. Once he was lined up, he pushed forward into Grell's tight heat with a low groan.

The answering mewl of pure pleasure he received in return was more than enough of a reward. Between one stroke and the next, he was fully buried and being pulled into a trembling kiss that grew more harsh with each slow stroke until Undertaker could feel Grell's teeth breaking his skin. Until they were panting and sharing every breath.

Thin smooth legs hitched higher on his hips, and he slammed himself in to the hilt, ripping a keening cry from Grell.

"Oh, Taker!" he panted. "Taker, that's it!"

"I thought you wanted gentle, love," he said, giving his partner a knowing grin. "Or does my princess…  _mmm_ … like it  _rough_?" He punctuated his words with another forceful thrust that shook the bed and left Grell howling. Just the way he loved it.

"Can't I have both?" Grell grinned and ground his hips against Undertaker's, setting him off at a faster, harsher pace. "Oh Taker… Yes!" And still he managed to clasp their hands together, tenderly pressing Grell's down into the mattress and running slow circles over the backs with his thumbs.

The perfect combination of both worlds, and it was only made that much sweeter when Undertaker leaned down to whisper in his ear, "You can have everything." He could feel his partner's body tensing in preparation for his release, and he could hear it in the heightened pitch of Grell's moans.

"Taker, I… I'm…" Undertaker's weight pressed down on him, caging him in and forcing their sweat-slicked bodies together even closer. Silver strands cascaded around both of them as their foreheads came together, close enough that they could see each other with perfect clarity.

"Tell me, love."

"I…" The coil wound tighter, burning in his belly. He was so close. Just a single touch, even a soft breath, would send him spiralling into bliss. "T-Taker, I…"

"I love you, Grell," Undertaker moaned, his hips snapping one final time and forcing Grell's eyes to roll back while they both finally succumbed to ecstasy. It took every bit of willpower he possessed to keep his own eyes open, just so he could see everything, but it was worth it. More than worth it. He absolutely loved being able to see the small crease between Grell's thin brows, how his lips parted in surrender. How he always swallowed twice and let out only a single groan as his body began to quiver.

"I…" Grell panted harshly, barely able to force his eyes open. "Love you… Taker." He smiled and squeezed the hands holding his own to the bed, and found a tender, heart-melting smile shining back down at him.

In all his life, Grell had never thought he would see something so beautiful. So utterly perfect. He'd never imagined that these scarred arms winding around him and pulling him into Undertaker's chest would be so comforting. Not once had it crossed his mind in all the years he'd been in existence, that he could feel whole from a man who always smelled of grave-dirt and formaldehyde.

But this was the truth of his existence. And he wouldn't change any of it.

"I hope you didn't think I was done with you," Undertaker chuckled while rolling Grell onto his stomach and mounting him from behind.

"Oh, I know you better than that," he giggled, glancing over his shoulder.

"Let's try not to wake the guests."

Grell moaned softly and pushed his hips back against his partner. "It's alright," he sighed. "They sleep like the dead."

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Undertaker started cackling. Just like he did when Sebastian came seeking information. The foundation of the building shook, and he was sure that half the neighborhood had been woken up from the sound. But Grell couldn't bring himself to care about any of that. Or even about the sudden weight bearing down on him while Undertaker collapsed and laughed even harder, still buried deep within him.

Grell smiled to himself and watched as Undertaker's hand fisted on the sheets and pounded into the mattress.

So this was what it felt like to make the man he loved laugh.

His life was definitely perfect.

_**.The End.** _


End file.
